


Harking the dark

by Caladenia



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, There is a bit of science if you squint hard enough, space walk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 10:54:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8443132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caladenia/pseuds/Caladenia
Summary: A few months after the Caretaker event and Janeway gets into deep trouble. Tom Paris takes over the rescue mission and makes a few discoveries about past and present relationships.Not a TP/KJ story.





	1. Lost and found

**Author's Note:**

> The main idea came to me while re-reading The Deep Range by A.C Clarke, then it morphed into something darker. The title is from Pegasus in Space by Anne McCaffrey.  
> My thanks to Dee474 for reviewing and encouragements. This story was posted on FFN and I have corrected a few typos and awkward sentences.
> 
> Note:  
> EMU = Extravehicular Mobility Unit. Short for spacesuit.  
> EVA = Extravehicular Activity, or spacewalk.

**Chapter 1 – Lost and found**

She was floating, free of gravity, free of pressure, the universe turning so very slowly around her. The ship was receding in the distance, like a model toy seen from across a room. Kathryn Janeway, captain of the mighty Voyager, smiled. 

"ENSIGN JANEWAY."

Tom's voice echoed around the bridge, one octave below its normal pitch but it was the tone he had chosen that was most important. A no-nonsense, authoritarian tone, demanding an instant response. Anyone targeted by Owen Paris' sharp tongue had better take notice or they got his personal attention until they did. Tom smiled as he watched as Chakotay sunk a little deeper in his chair while the effect of Paris' voice on Harry was the opposite. His back looked as tightly wound up as when he had introduced himself to Captain Janeway a few months before.

 _The stuff of nightmares. A hull breach large enough to fly a shuttle sideways had opened up where the screen once stood. Tom had found himself sitting on the edge of nothingness, the shimmering force field the only thing preventing everybody on the bridge from being sucked out in space._ _Thankfully, the Kazons had retreated right there and then, leaving the ship licking deep wounds and the crew wondering when the next assault would come._

"What do you think you are still doing out there, Ensign? Taking a stroll?" Tom added mockingly. He had cast the lure into the current. Let's see what it would bring. A few seconds passed and he begun to worry. He had not thought about the details of what to say. As usual, he was flying by the seat of his pants.

"Cap… Captain Paris?" 

Tom let out his breath. Janeway was responding, something Chakotay had not been able to achieve and had seen him rushing to accept the pilot's help. She did not sound like the calm and self-possessed Captain Tom was used to hear and obey. Her voice was that of a younger and less assured self, more susceptible to be dragooned back to Voyager, he hoped. "And who else do you think it could be, Ensign?" he asked sarcastically.

He winced. He wanted her to obey his voice, not question who was at the end of the comms line. "Don't answer that. Rather tell me what you are doing outside this forsaken lump of tritanium husk that you call a space ship?"

_Janeway and Paris had led an EVA team to tackle the numerous hull breaches from the outside of the ship. Isolated in their self-contained space suits, the small crew had lugged unyielding metal plates over the gaping openings and fused them to the intact surrounding hull. The job demanded physical strength to counteract the inertial force imparted to any object in null gravity, and finesse while wielding massive phaser tools. The slow and patch up work was dangerous and exacting, sapping their energy with every hour spent in the forbidding environment._

"I went out on a hull inspection, Captain," Janeway answered, sounding worried. Tom knew too well the effect his dad had on most subalterns and his only son. His smile disappeared as he resumed his impersonation.

"An inspection. Of course," he said with a drawl. "And what did you see, Ensign, on this very important inspection? Or have you already forgotten? Because I haven't heard any report from you for some time."

_There was no normality to working in a space suit where the senses were either violently assaulted or utterly numbed. Helmet visors always took that tiny fraction of a second too long to adapt to changes in illumination, sending waves of pain rushing behind the eye balls from the blinding light of the powerful spot lights. The alternative was to peer in the night side at the turn of the head. Then it felt like falling into a bottomless hole. Tom was never sure which of the glare or the never-ending blackness was the least nauseating._

_Sound was another casualty of EVA work. Dull reverberations from the power tools travelled through the magnetised soles, while the fans and pumps hummed away in the backpack, the comms reduced to the one channel to shut out distractions. Touch was non-existent, transmuted through thick gloves and waldos. The smell of recycled air, sweat and more pungent body odours was hard to forget. Overall, an experience Tom and most space farers hated thoroughly._

_Grabbing a few hours of sleep dangling at the end of a short safety cable, the repair crew had only gone below deck to renew the breathing gas exchangers, flush out the sanitation plumbing and replenish the pap pouches that served nutritional snacks with all the flavour of composted cardboard. Painstakingly, the EVA team had repaired all the breaches. There was nothing more that could be done and Janeway had sent everybody back inside while she checked the integrity of the hull for the last time. After three long days strapped in a smelly suit, Paris had finally crashed in his own bed before a very concerned Harry had wakened him up._

"Hull integrity is back at a 100 per cent, Captain. However, I saw plasma venting from the starboard nacelle. As I approached to investigate, I got caught in the blast," reported Janeway.

Tom noticed Chakotay signalling to Tuvok, who left the bridge immediately. The plasma leak might be the cause of the warp core malfunction that a very pissed off Chief Engineer had been unable to re-start. Not the pilot's problem right now.

 "And when were you going to let the rest of us know about it, Ensign?" asked Tom, keeping in character. His gamble to use his father's reminiscence was paying off. Janeway was responding to him and describing Voyager while thinking she was back on the Al-Batani replying to Captain Paris. A thoroughly confusing situation, which did say much about Janeway's current state of mind.

 "I found myself thrown away from the ship at great speed," Janeway replied. "When I realised what had happened, I applied reverse thrust to stop and then checked on my suit functions. Sir."

At least, she had followed Starfleet protocols. Check the suit first. Locate yourself second. Ask for help third. Except she had never signalled she was in trouble.

Her voice turned dreamy. "I looked around to fix my position. It’s magnificent out here. I can see the birth of stars ..." Her voice died down.

Tom closed his eyes. As Harry had suggested to him on their way to the bridge, she had gone space happy and there was no trusting her to be rational anymore.

_Every so often, space spoke in whispering tones to a chosen few. There was beauty there, a harsh kind of beauty. Dangerous, seductive._

_In a space suit, one was at the centre of a giant immutable womb made just for you. There were no bulkheads, no sensors, no screens preventing you from touching space. Time disappeared and thoughts about the unimportant obligations of normal life were set aside, forgotten. Those affected lost themselves in the contemplation of the all-encompassing splendour of the universe. Some were eager to share their rapture with those poor souls bound by gravity and duties inside flimsy metal boxes. Others stay silent until their air reserves were gone and their corpses drifted away, preserved for eternity in the cold depth of space._

_'Space addiction' was the medical term for the condition. Everyone else called it going space happy. Whatever its name, there was no cure. Since the early days of space exploration, the only sure prevention had been to restrict the time spent on EVA. Not an easy rule to follow when you were 70,000 light years from the nearest maintenance space station and had a minimum crew at your disposal._

Tom did some quick calculations. The Captain had spent nearly three days inside a space suit like most of the EVA team, catching a few hours of sleep here and there. Knowing her, she probably had started on the hull inspection immediately, without a break. That was what? Four, five hours ago?

The timing could not have been worse. The shuttles were still inoperable since the Kazon attack. Even Neelix' ship had taken part in the defence of the ship and had suffered major damage in return. The transporters were offline and the tractor beam useless as external sensors could not see anything as small and slow as a spacesuit until they were recalibrated. Which would take a day, maybe more.

They had weapons, environmental controls and shields. Perfect to protect those inside the ship but not what a lost crew member needed. The Captain would have to come back to Voyager by herself. Tom corrected himself. She would have to want to come back. If she had enough fuel.

Chakotay moved his hand across his throat and Tom killed off the comms. "Now you've got her attention, tell her to get back. Now," the Commander hissed. Tom shook his head. "With all due respect, we can't just ask her. You've tried that and she didn't listen. First we need to know where she is but it will not be an easy task if she goes all stupid every time she looks around," he said. "Commander, you agreed to let me do it my way," he pleaded.

His face showing only frustration, Chakotay nodded curtly. "Carry on, Lieutenant."

Until Harry had told him the details on how Voyager was missing her captain, Tom had never made the link between the Captain Janeway he knew and Owen Paris' story all these years ago about a freshly minted Science officer who had gone space happy while under the elder Paris' command. As with most of his interactions with his father, Tom had pushed the memory in a corner of his mind marked 'not-to-be-opened'.

He now wished he could remember what Captain Paris had said he told Janeway to snap her out of this silly dream-like state. One thing was sure: Owen Paris had most probably be forceful. Very forceful. Channelling an Admiral he knew all too well, Tom continued.

Her actions had been thoughtless and unbecoming of an officer in her situation who was to stay with the ship, not go off by herself every time she thought it was a good idea. The ship was not on a holiday at the seaside. Protocols and rules were what was important, not her little stroll.

Or maybe Starfleet rules were too onerous for her to follow? Take Captain Picard for example. There was a model Starfleet captain who fully understood the reasons for sending his Number One into situations that could prove dicey. Picard obeyed protocols and rules. He did not just ignore them when there were inconvenient. And he certainly did not go for all that unscientific crap about the magnificence of the universe. 

Harry's jaw dropped somewhere near his belly button. Back at his console, Tuvok had a permanent eyebrow fixed high on his forehead. He was checking the reports from the rescue team, relaying the lack of news to his CO and Tom. Chakotay did not glance at the pilot.

Taking a breather, Tom pondered what he had told the Commander back in the ready room when he had presented his rescue plan. He had braced himself for Chakotay to laugh at him, to say he was used to Tom being insolent, that it was going to be a breeze for an ex-con to demean one of his superior officers. Instead, Chakotay had accepted the idiotic plan without question. He had not seem angry or dismissive. In fact, he had looked as if he was the one drifting away, with no hope of seeing Voyager again.

When they had returned to the bridge, the Commander had dismissed the maintenance crew still working on the burnt out equipment and had put the pilot in charge, all incoming comms restricted to Janeway's EMU channel. In ten minutes, Tom had made more progress trying to reach the Captain than Chakotay had achieved since realising Janeway had gone walkabout.

However, the good news were beginning to sour. Tom continued the verbal flogging but he was not going anywhere fast. In fact, he felt Janeway slipping through his fingers. He was sure his father must have used the Starfleet angle on her as he had done often enough on his son, if to little avail. Tom knew the Captain; she was a sticker for protocols. She ought to respond to an appeal to procedures and rules. Except now she just laughed at them, for reasons he could not understand and did not have time to dwell on.

Somehow, he managed to get her to switch the suit telemetry back on. A small victory that left Chakotay in a frenzy as the figures scrolled on the screen. The fuel cell was in the red as expected but the bad news was that the EMU primary life support had failed. Janeway's blood pressure and other vitals were way too low. The secondary pack was operational with less than half an hour of oxygen left. The Captain was not in a good place.

Nothing he said seemed to get to her. She was drifting away from the safety of the ship, getting high reciting poems about the beauty of nature and other such non-sense in a sultry voice that sent shivers down his spine. If his appeals to the captain and the scientist were not heeded, then he would have to make it personal and strike Janeway where it would really hurt.

For that, he needed to become completely insensitive to her feelings because he remembered too well the shame and self-loathing that his father's words could engender. But he could not give up. Not with his dad whispering in his ear about another failure to add to a long list.

With a sense of desperation, he let anger and contempt rise, feeling the blood rush as righteousness filled his thoughts. Janeway was the wayward ungrateful worthless child and he was the uncompromising bastard who was going to get her back in line, no matter what.

Now fully in control of the role reversal, Tom ripped into her. He accused her of sullying her own father's memory, dishonouring the Janeway's name and reputation, calling her a coward unfit to wear a uniform. He listed her poor decisions, starting with the destruction of the Caretaker's array and the casting out the crew to an exile they did not deserve. All because of her.

He cut her off, ignored her, insulted her and let silence stretch when she daydreamed again before reeling her back with more untruths and baseless assertions. He railed against his own words and persisted nonetheless, not letting his eyes stray away from the console in front of him showing the EMU air supply in free fall. 

Under Tom's relentless assault, Janeway's ramblings slowed down and she started to react, diffidently at first, then with more vigour to what she thought were Owen Paris' verbal attacks. She recalled their friendship following the Arias mission and their capture by the Cardassians. Tom wavered, curious to learn more about a part of his father's life he knew little about but there was no time. Giving silent thanks to the Delta Quadrant's gods instead, he started to ease off his acting performance. The temperature on the bridge thawed as Janeway's voice regained its normal pitch and confidence.

Then she hesitated. The few suit sensors still working veered resolutely into the red as she wakened up to her plight.

Chakotay stood up, gesturing that he wanted to take over but Tom refused. He had just spent two days in an EMU and knew the suits inside out. Chakotay did not.

Tom cut through the panic he could hear edging in Janeway's tone. He asked her to describe what she could see of Voyager and estimate her distance from the ship. Following the Commander's instructions, the rescue crew concentrated their powerful spotlights in the area of space she indicated while Tom asked Janeway to use the EMU wrist mirror to signal and fix her position.

Eons passed. The telemetry figures took a nosedive. Then a 'we can see her!' boomed over the comms.

A few minutes later, two crewmembers had rendezvous with the drifting EMU and hooked on a spare support backpack to it before flying back to the ship. A relieved voice sounded through the bridge. "The Captain's back on Voyager, Commander. Getting her to sickbay now. Ayala out."

The bridge fell silent. Tom leaned against the bulkhead behind the comms console, Harry patting him on the arm, "You got her back. Thank God, you got her back."

Chakotay almost run towards the door. "I'll be in sickbay. Tuvok, you've got the bridge." He turned around before disappearing. "Thank you, Lieutenant Paris. You are relieved." 

When Tom reached his quarters, he collapsed beside the bed, shaking uncontrollably.

 


	2. Discoveries

**Chapter 2 - Discoveries**

Tom disregarded the sound of the site-to-site transport behind him. He had been working on the shuttle check-ups for the past few hours, a task which left him little time for thinking and even less for idle chats. Exactly what he had been looking for when he had talked Lt Torres into letting him do the pre-flight inspections. She had not taken long to be convinced that, yes, he would be happy to go through the long list and no, he did not need anybody to help him.

So far he had found few major problems, logging them on his PADD for the engineering staff to investigate later. More importantly, he was getting physically knackered. He had only managed a couple of hours of sleep in the early morning before waking up drenched in sweat from anxious dreams he could not remember. Still on edge, the last thing he needed was an inquisitive visitor. 

Hearing nothing more, he turned around to face the intruder, ready to mouth off a few invectives. A grey ghost was hovering silently near the far wall of the cargo bay, its legs and arms flaying a foot off the floor. Transfixed, Tom did not react when the body came crumbling down like a scarecrow sliding off a pole. The detached head rolled off leisurely towards him, the golden visor hiding any feature beneath. Regaining the use of his heart as he recognised what he was looking at, the veteran pilot approached the empty spacesuit with curiosity.

There was no repairing the damage that the plasma blast, and then the Doctor had caused. Most of the reflective outer layer of the suit was singed and small holes peppered the primary life support backpack. He could see where the EMH had used a heavy duty laser scalpel to extract Janeway out of the protective outfit, opening the hardened torso section like an emergency ration container.

A faint coppery smell that was out of place in the cargo bay wafted to his nose as he bent over to take a better look. He put his finger through a large ragged hole, noting its twin on the other side of the leg. Thin needles were still poking out of the blood-streaked lining. By inflating the pressure pads along the whole leg and injecting a local painkiller, the automatic failsafe system had worked as intended, stopping the Captain from losing precious air and bleeding to death. But all that had been almost undone by her shattered mind and the failure of the suit's life support.

Tom stood up, sickened by the wreck at his feet. It did not pay to become the focus of the Delta Quadrant's undivided attention. How long before Voyager's crew all got picked off, one at a time? There had been so many deaths already and so many misses for those who had survived the one-way terrifying haul from the Badlands. Even if they did manage to get back home, there would be so few people they knew still alive to welcome them. The people they had left behind would be strangers or dead.

His mother, his father. They would never know what had happened to their son. He would die alone, exiled, lost.

He kicked the helmet out of the way and left the cargo bay for Sandrine's.

* * *

Trying hard to drown his sombre mood in synthehol, Tom steadied his forearms on the bar, wondering if he had not overcompensated. While the thought of spending another lonely evening in his quarters had been too much to bear, he had not expected the reception he had gotten on his arrival.

As soon as he had appeared, mocking crew members had taken turns patting him on the back and telling him how surprised they were that he was not spending time in the brig. The more earnest had asked him what he was going to do with all the Captain's replicator rations coming his way for the next month, or words to that effect. Somehow, everybody knew what had happened on the bridge but they had retreated fast enough to their tables and pool games, skewered by a hard blue gaze showing just above the rim of his glass.

He asked the holographic bartender for a top-up. Voices and sounds mercifully merged into a comfortable white noise. A few more minutes and he would be gone. All he had achieved so far by coming here was a bursting bladder.

Bringing the glass to his lips, he felt a sudden glacial stillness descend on the small spirited crowd. Everyone's gaze was focused on a large silhouette drawn against the bright corridor beyond the open holodeck door. Chakotay entered the room and a stampede to the exit left the two men facing each other. 

Sandrine served the newcomer with her usual banter and swagger before Chakotay ordered the computer to delete all holograms. He then leaned against the bar, a replica image of the pilot's stance.

"Tom."

"Commander."

Silence crept in. Tom had come to Sandrine's to keep his mind off too many thoughts, but there was clearly no escape. Well, if the Commander was here to give him a dressing down, he could go and get f... And the whole bloody crew too.

"The Captain's fine," said Chakotay in a matter-of-fact tone, looking into the distance. "The Doctor thinks that the accident with the plasma vent and the long days on EVA combined to push her over the edge but she's fine. She'll be back on the bridge the day after tomorrow."

Chakotay was manifestly not here for a fight. Fine, because right at the moment, Tom was not sure if his well-honed self-preservation instinct was going to be strong enough to prevent him from slamming into the Commander at the slightest taunt. "She is lucky to have made it alive," he answered instead, before finishing his unsatisfying drink, ready to leave.

"Yes, she is, isn't she," Chakotay threw back with a short hard laugh so uncharacteristic that Tom stopped his move away from the bar to study the large man more closely.

Everybody on the ship was dead tired. They had been on their feet for more shifts they cared to remember, but he had seen Chakotay pull triple or even quadruple shifts before. The Commander always managed to work marvels during the worst of situations, never quitting until the job was done. Very much like the Captain really. But this time, there was something other than pure exhaustion radiating from the man.

Before Tom could wonder about what was troubling his CO, Chakotay spoke again, his hand nursing a glass he had hardly touched. "Why did you do it?" he asked in a softer voice.

Tom lifted an eyebrow, miffed at the change of tone. What was that all about? An interrogation? Then he slumped back against the bar top, conflicted about his emotions and unsure of his options. It was not that he wanted to stay, but somehow he was not as keen to leave anymore.

At least, the question was easy to answer, although perhaps he should give the impression of a considered reply, given who was doing the asking. 

There was one simple reason he could offer: pure self-interest. The next person in line for the captaincy if anything had happened to Janeway was the very same Chakotay and it was not as if Tom's relationship with the former Maquis leader was clear-cut, trust issues and all. It was only in holodramas that saving somebody's life miraculously made you friends for life.

Wrong answer, keeping the present company in mind.

Better still. He was only looking after himself and saving the Captain's life would bring plenty of kudos. That's the retort he had thrown at anyone who had asked until he had had enough of their smirks, because by then, they all knew how he had got Janeway back on the ship. That answer was right on character though. Chakotay might buy it.

Or maybe not. The Commander was no fool.

Tom crossed to the pool table, needing something to occupy his hands. "The Captain got me out of prison, handed me Voyager and gave me back my pilot commission. I owe her." Close enough and something the big guy would understand.

He started to place the balls on the felt, taking his time.

Closest to the truth had been those few seconds on the bridge after the Caretaker had returned the crew to Voyager and Chakotay had appeared on the bridge with murder in his eyes. Janeway had stood up to the angry man who had been ready to phaser the guy he considered a traitor.

Instead she had demanded respect. As if she meant it. For Tom Paris. The habitual loser. The one nobody had wanted to know when he had stepped on the ship. She could have left him to deal alone with the aftermath of his betrayal of the Maquis. After all, she had found her escaped renegade and there were other would-be pilots on Voyager with a less complicated past history and lighter chips on their shoulders. And even if he was the best pilot around, and damn if he was not, she could have just closed her eyes. Yep, he owed her a lot because she had been the only one at the time who had not treated him like dirt.

Except for Harry of course. Good old Harry.

Chakotay had not moved an inch. "She'll want to talk to you. To thank you."

A cue in his hands, Tom snorted. "Sure, Commander, sure. I insulted and abused her, the entire exchange has been circulating throughout the ship and she's going to thank me for it."

"When I find out who recorded what happened, I'll …". Chakotay banged his drink on the wooden top, spilling most of its contents.

"Look, Commander. I am sorry. I mean, I am happy she's back and safe and all that, but I feel bad about what I said to her. Especially now that the crew ... Anyway, when she's better, I'll apologise and take whatever she throws at me." What else could he do? It was not such a bad idea to 'fess up, take it on the chin and be done with the whole sorry business. Papa Paris would have been proud.

Chakotay raised his head, looking surprised. "I am not asking for an apology, Tom. What you did worked. When you told me of your plan in the ready room, I was ready to accept anything to get Kat..., Captain Janeway back. You saved her life. I am, I mean, we are all in your debt." He stopped for a few moments, then continued. "What I meant to ask, is ... why did you do it the way you did," ending the question with one of those vague hand waves that says much but explains little.

Tom shrugged, oblivious of the Commander's stumbled words. "I just remembered the right story at the right time." Lame, but he still was not sure what Chakotay was after.

"You told me that the Captain suffered from space addiction while under your father's command, years ago, and that was what gave you the idea to talk to her as if she was still part of his crew," the Commander persisted.

Tom chalked the end of the cue and started the game without answering. He should have known Chakotay was not going to give up. Well, if the Commander wanted to waste some of his off duty time playing counsellor, that was his problem. Though it felt strange to open up to Chakotay of all persons on board this doomed ship, but Harry would not understand; and it was not like Tom was going to find a soul mate on board Voyager soon.

He took the plunge.

"My father was always telling me stories about his job as a Starfleet officer, first as a lieutenant, later on as a captain. He was, he is, proud of what he was doing."

The first two balls fell neatly in the pockets. Tom moved around to get into a better position and hit the third ball. "He probably thought his little pep talks would motivate me to pursue a career in Starfleet." He straightened his back with a wince. Crawling inside the shuttles had taken its toll on his vertebrae.

"But it was more than just remembering good times together," Chakotay interrupted, moving closer to the pool table.

Tom sniggered at the thought. "You've never met my father. He is pure Starfleet. No compromises, no weaknesses. When I was a kid, I worshipped him. I wanted to be like him. Then, I found out what it takes to be a Starfleet officer, according to Owen Paris. All the righteousness, everything black and white. No place for the smallest failure. Hard on yourself and on others, he used to say. After a while, I could not see the light anymore. By the time he was an admiral, we were not on talking terms. I never achieved his lofty expectations, made a fool of myself. Did something very wrong. Ended up in prison, quite rightly so. He had given up on me way before that."

He scrutinised his hands, a half smile on his lips. "I was shaking all the time I was on the comms impersonating my father. Silly, isn't it?"

The Commander picked up a ball, feeling its weight before carefully putting it back. "But you did a good job. You got the Captain back. You saved her life," he repeated.

Shaking his head, Tom tried to put his thoughts into some sort of order. It was becoming important that he explained himself. He leaned against the table, the game momentarily halted. "I could hear myself talking like him, thinking like him, harassing somebody who did not deserve it. It was so easy, so natural to be the SOB I always thought he was. That's all I could feel at first and I was so angry because there I was, behaving exactly like him." He turned back, fingering the thick edge of the table top. "Next, something twisted in my head. You know, like these optical illusions when you look at a picture and you see one thing, and then suddenly you realise there is another way of looking at it and it turns into something totally different. That's how I felt. I became my father, not just acted like him."

Tom glanced at Chakotay who nodded what the pilot took as an encouragement to continue.

"I saw myself through his eyes. I realised you can care for somebody so much, hanker to save them from themselves, but they don't listen and it eats at you. And you keep on taking the same path, saying the same things because that's the only way you know how, even though it's not enough to keep them safe." Tom stopped, desperately trying to regain some composure.

"I guess ... I felt his anguish at thinking I am dead now and not able to show me his ...," he floundered once again, "… his love for me."

He felt rather than heard Chakotay grow very still beside the pool table before moving off at a brisk pace. When he raised his head, the holodeck door had shut behind the large man, leaving the pilot bemused and alone once again, wondering what had triggered the Commander's disappearing act. Then in a leap of empathy he would have never thought his self-centred nature capable of, Tom grasped what should have been plain to see, if he had not spent the past few days feeling sorry for himself. 

Talk about depressing, he thought. The next seventy years were going to pass very slowly indeed for the dark brooding man, powerless to let Janeway know how he felt while watching her risk her life every parsec of the way home. It was not like she would even consider Voyager's First Officer had deep feelings for her. Tom knew all too well those Starfleet brass were a breed apart, blind to anything which was not strictly regulation or for the good of their ship. No, it was ridiculous, risible even to think that these two ...

He twirled the cue in his hand. This is the Delta Quadrant, Tom my boy. A new beginning for everybody, the chance to make our own rules here, be who we want to be. And maybe, just maybe, we will all get back in one piece and much faster than we think.

Smiling to himself, he sank the remaining balls in a flourish of skill, his woes pushed aside. All told, Tom was an optimistic man.

 


	3. Addictions

**Chapter 3 - Addictions**

_Two days later_  

Tom watched as Chakotay sat down with a deep frown on his face. Tuvok walked back to his station, one eyebrow slightly higher than the other. Nobody save the Captain and Neelix could unsettle the Vulcan and given the two men had just come out of the ready room, it had to be Janeway. She was back on duty and she must have flown into them.

_Shit, shit, shit._

Neither men looked at him and instead they both got very busy at their consoles. He heard a ping at his own workstation. 'Don't say anything!' the message said. A second ping followed immediately: 'I strongly suggest you stay silent on the exact ...'. Before he could read the remainder of the communication, Janeway's voice called through the open door. "Lt Paris. In my ready room."

 _I'm history._  

"Chakotay and Tuvok have told me how I owe my return to Voyager to your straight talking," the Captain said. If anything was haunting her, she did not show it.

He put his hands behind his back, ready to launch into the speech he had rehearsed in his head at least ten times over the past forty-eight hours: a quick summary of how he had been brought in to help, followed by a fly over of what had been said - stressing the concern of the bridge crew - and ending in an heartfelt apology.

He opened his mouth, then stopped. _What did Chakotay mean by .. ?_

"They've also told me of your hard work on the shuttle repairs, which went well beyond the call of your normal duties. I want you to know that your value to this crew and ship is recognised. I've put a recommendation to that effect on your Starfleet records."

Tom mumbled a thank you, uncharacteristically tongue-tied.

"I'm sending Chakotay and Tuvok on a trading mission. Our food supplies are getting low and we need to take advantage of the lack of hostility from the Kazons while it lasts. You'll be my First Officer while my two COs are away." Janeway smiled at the young man, before sitting down with a wince. "Dismissed."

He walked back to the bridge, feeling numb.

 

_Three days later_

He did not believe him. There was no way Harry had managed to purge all the recordings of Tom's now infamous words from the computer memory core. Sooner or later Janeway was going to find out what everybody else on the ship had heard. That was the worst part of this drawn-out disaster. She might have put on a brave face when she thought it was only the bridge officers who had witnessed the exchange, but the whole crew? 

He had humiliated the Captain, caused her to lose respect. Though he had not heard anybody talking ill of her, now that he thought about it. All the hard banter had been directed at him, not her. Chakotay and Tuvok had most probably put the fear of god into the lower ranks and would be guarding her like a two-headed Cerberus when they returned.

He had to tell her before they came back. Talk to her. Get the whole thing off his chest.

 

_Four days later_

He spent much of the evening programming the replicator until he was satisfied with the result. His new plan was neither sound, nor necessary, but he could wait no longer. He grabbed the small box he had replicated and walked down towards the turbo lift. Nobody saw him standing at the door.

"Captain, may I come in?"

"Tom? Well, I am a bit busy right now …."

"I come bearing gifts," he said, holding up the box. She lifted an eyebrow and frowned at the same time. Convinced she was going to turn him away, he opened the lid, letting the heady aroma fill the space between them.

She moved out of the doorway, waving him towards a large couch. She seemed much smaller than he was expecting, until he realised she was barefoot. Her hair was trying to escape the tight bun she usually wore and she had discarded her uniform top. After another long day on the bridge, the Starfleet persona was slipping away. He had wanted to talk to the person behind the Captain and had timed his arrival well.

They both sat down. Janeway had a questioning look on her face so he started without further ado, placing the box on the small table in front of them.

"When I lived in Marseilles, I discovered a small village a few kilometres past Monaco." He took two red napkins out of the box. "No transporter technology was allowed within its walls and the only way in was a narrow winding road hugging the coastline. There were very few tourists as you can imagine." 

Two small spoons appeared next. By then, Janeway was sitting on the edge of the couch, her attention fully focused on him. All was going according to plan.

"In summer, all I could hear was the deafening noise of the cicadas among the trees. And then there was the distinctive smell of the maquis, hovering around in the heat the whole way. Did you know the word Maquis originally comes from there?"

She did not seem surprised at the conversation topic. "Yes, I did some research before going in the Badlands. It was the name the French resistance movement took during World War Two from the local terrain, difficult to penetrate and full of hiding places."

He nodded. "It's tough country for sure, but it's also magnificent. The sea kisses the mountain and the houses climb up the slopes, with flight of steps between them instead of streets. I found this tiny café, on the edge of a small beach cove. Three tables under the shade of massive stone pines and the most sublime dessert for those coffee connoisseurs."

With a minimum of flourish, he held up two cups holding a contrast of black on white. "It's called ..."

"An affogato," she said with reverence. She closed her eyes and inhaled the aroma of the expresso shot, then pushed herself against the back of the couch. "I sense this gift is not entirely for my benefit," she added, her head cocked at him.

Tom shuffled on his seat.

"You've been nervous around me since I got back on the bridge. In fact, everybody has been edgy since I've left sickbay. Care to explain?"

He stood to attention, examining a speck of dust well above Janeway's head. "Captain, I suggest a week in the brig and a month off the holodeck," he blurted.

She looked at him with surprise, then a small smirk showed up. "That's a bit harsh," she said. "After all, I did finish that report on the hull inspection."

Tom's mind did a double take. He put on his best Officer's frown. "The report was two days late. Unacceptable."

"Quite true, Tom, quite true." She patted the seat he had just left. "Sit down and tell me what's going on."

He capitulated. "I can't forget what I told you. You know. To get you back. I had to say things that were not true, that must have hurt. I want to apologise."

"I didn't become a captain by being thin-skinned," Janeway said. "Whatever words you used were most probably the right ones because they got me off a space addiction I did not even know I had. On that basis, I would hardly call what you might have done or said unwarranted."

"You have no recollection of what I said? None of it?" 

She stood up and started to pace the small room. His trained medic eyes could not help noticing she was still favouring her left leg.

"Not clearly. I recall checking the fuel levels of my EMU, flying over the lower decks. I talked to Chakotay on the bridge, sending him my reports. I came near the nacelles. Then it gets ... fuzzy." She stopped walking. "I saw a bright light. Felt some pain. It became dark. And then, there was a voice, cold and angry. I felt disconnected, as if I was someone else, somewhere else."

He had been agonising for days and nights about how best to apologise and she could not remember a single word. Spilling it all out now would mean betraying her twice and he could not do that.

_I've been a bloody idiot._

Her voice got harsher. "Chakotay has been tiptoeing around me like I was a crystal glass. He is my First Officer, he is responsible for my safety. I can understand that but he's refused point blank to answer any of my questions. Tuvok is following suit, Harry can't look at me, and now you bring me a gift. What's going on, Paris?"

_Oh, oh. She's starting to get all captain on me again but Chakotay will kill me if I spill the beans now. Time for a strategic retreat._

 He brushed the question aside. "Let it lie."

"What did you say, Lieutenant?" Her eyes narrowed as if wondering if he was worth skinning alive.

"Trust us. Chakotay, Tuvok, Harry, all of us. Just trust us, Captain." 

She threw her arms in the air. "Well of course I trust you. Tuvok has been my friend for many years, and I'm proud of what you and Harry have done for this ship." She was turning his words into something else, a ploy he recognised all too well from using it when he found himself in a tight corner. "As for Chakotay, he's a very good man." She put her hand to her brow and sighed. "I mean, he is an excellent First Officer."

It took all of Tom's self-control not to smile at her slipup. "Exactly," he said, taking the advantage. "And it wouldn't be the first time that bridge officers have done their best to lighten the load of their captain. So trust us. Believe me when I say nothing you did that afternoon has changed the fact that you have the utmost respect of the whole crew for who you are and what you are doing for us."

She was so still, he found himself holding his breath as if he could freeze time. He could do no more. It was her decision to make, to let them in. Not just because it was their job, but because they were _... What? Friends? Maybe. Maybe not. We're still finding out who our friends are. Family. That's what we are. Can't chose your family but you can bleed for them._

An imperceptible nod was his answer. This time he did not hide his smile. "It's starting to melt," he said, pushing the small glass cup towards her. She sat down, reaching for the spoon.

"The café owner used grappa but I didn't think Lt Torres would have been impressed if I had re-routed power to my quarters to make alcohol," he added. He was elated, the weight of the past four days suddenly lifted off his shoulders. His fancy plan, his silly idea of having a late snack in the Captain's quarters had paid off.

"It would depend on what you could offer in return. Klingons are partial to raktajino, you know. With your talent at replicator programming, you might have a chance."

"No way would I ask that woman to do anything for me. I want to keep my nose in one piece," he said with simulated dread in his voice.

"She's a good Engineer," Janeway retorted, licking the spoon.

"And an arrogant, loud mouth officer."

"Says Tom."

He chuckled and said nothing. They finished the dessert in companionable silence.

"If you are so adamant I should reduce your replicator rations, maybe we can do a deal," she said, accompanying him to the door.

"What kind of deal?" he asked. Whatever she wanted, she could have. She looked more relaxed than he had seen her in weeks.

"Next time you need to talk to me about something that can't be aired on the bridge or in the ready room, come and see me with one of those," she said, pointing to the small box he was carrying. "Just don't make it a habit. I've got enough addictions to last me a lifetime."

"Considered it done, Captain."

The Delta Quadrant is indeed a place of miracles, he thought on the way back to his quarters.

 

 


End file.
